Stray
by Han-Fu
Summary: Shaken by the loss of his closest companion, Lloyd is forced to terms with a grim reality. Sometimes, saving the world and fixing it are entirely different matters. -Post Game-
1. The Melancholy of Noishe

A Brief A/N: This is a story that started small (literally) as a harmless drabbling exercise one day by generally random inclination. Having never written the genre before, I intended to leave this as a one-shot… but ended up loving the characterization and plot potential of ToS a little too much to give it up. As a relative newcomer in the fandom, I'm curious about how this will be received and, if all goes well, this little stub might grow into a decent (not to mention more substantial) piece of fanfiction.

ANYWHO, a quick memo: this is post-game chronologically via the alternate Kratos-centric ending (… for future reference, if this thing pans out)… So, without further ado, enjoy!

…

Noishe was dead.

Lloyd was at least sure of that much.

He had laughed at first: laughed so hysterically that his breath dwindled to hopeless gasping and his head swam in fuzzy patches of white and gray. Surely, it was some sort of joke. For all of the whimpering and cowardice, Noishe was immortal in his eyes: never tired, never injured, always watching over him…

But not anymore.

The friend and guardian that he had taken for granted since birth was gone: fair game for the maggots and wolves in that terrible, blood-spattered hellhole—

"What'll you be orderin', sweetheart?" The raspy croak of a woman's voice startled Lloyd back to reality, giving the waitress a brief look. Squat, robust and middle aged, with thin glasses balanced awkwardly on the tip of a not-so-thin nose. Her ponytail was the color of cigarette ash. "Will y'be havin' any appetizers or—"

"Just coffee, please," Lloyd muttered, forcing a smile as he set his menu aside.

"Cream and sugar?"

"Ye— a-ah… black, actually. Thanks."

She nodded quickly and sauntered off— probably for the kitchen, he figured, though he didn't bother dwelling on the subject further. The place seemed unusually quiet for a restaurant, but that was fine by him. Small and shabby were just two of the charming points to Meltokio's slum district.

He couldn't say that he loved the ambiance, but the quiet solitude of this place drew him anyway. It was easier to be _Sugah' _or _Sweetheart _than it was to carry a title like…

… like _Hero, _for example.

"Here you go, sweetheart," the raspy throated waitress returned with a white mug and set it down in front of him, flashing an age-yellowed smile. "Fresh brewed. Don't go burnin' your tongue on it."

It was only when he grasped the mug and prepared to taste that belated realization came of her other delivery, suddenly hesitating. "Ah, ma'am, I didn't ask for—"

"I know y'didn't," she told him gruffly, still smiling as she turned to saunter off again. "'Just in case you need it, darlin'. 'Scuse me, though, I've got a table or two t'clean while the place is empty. You give me a holler if you decide on that appetizer, alright?"

The place was _always_ empty, Lloyd's mind snapped in a cold tone that surprised even _him, _though he bit his tongue and merely nodded. Watching her vanish, he dropped his gaze to the table— or, more specifically, to the small stack of somethings that had been placed on it.

"Geez… Am I really that transparent?" It was a question for no one in particular, maybe his coffee, if anything. Defeated at last by his own spite of bitter things, he snatched three packets of sugar and dumped them in. A soup spoon swished it all around, followed with the _plopsplish_ of poured cream.

For a moment, Lloyd could have sworn that cloud of white in his cup looked canine-shaped as it blossomed, but the phantom was gone in an instant.

_Noishe…_

He took a sip and, despite the warm and pleasant sweetness of the drink, a bitter aftertaste lingered on his palate. His nose crinkled up in a grimace, finishing the rest a little too quickly.

The middle-aged waitress watched him as he stumbled out the door, sighed heavily to herself as she fished in her pocket for a half-crushed cigarette, then a cyan lighter.

"That kid looks kinda' familiar," a second woman and co-worker, taller and thinner, but no less aged, mumbled behind the counter.

"He's been here a few times b'fore," the first rasped, unperturbed.

"I know that, but I meant…"

"I _know_ what y'meant, Sharon."

"… Don't you think you're treating him awfully casual-like, then?"

The waitress took a long drag of her cigarette, coughing out what might've been a smoky laugh, and shook her head dismissively.

"People don't come round' a place like this for recognition's sake, Sharon. Let it be."

"…"

"B'sides, I'd hate seein' him chased off. Good tippers are rare these days, eh?"

"… Amen to that."


	2. Artificial Sweetener

A(nother) Brief A/N: First of all, I'd like to give a sincere thank you to each and every wonderful person who's left me a review on this tale so far; it means more than I can possibly hope to articulate in this little top-chapter ramble. Writing lately has been sluggish due to academic mauling, but I'm proud to say that I FINALLY got this chapter in some semblance of order. It's still a bit shy of full-length, but that'll come in time.

Now, on to the story. We'll see how this goes (it'll get a plot soon I SWEAR NO REALLY).

…

Saving the world and fixing it are entirely different matters.

Lloyd had been naïve once, clinging hopelessly to the false belief that some miracle cure existed for the planet and all its woes. Defeating Mithos was like defeating the evil of the world; finally cleansed of the dark shadow looming over it, Aselia's people—both those of Sylverant _and _Tethe'alla— would be able to live in peaceful, happy coexistence forever, just as things were _meant _to be.

It would be a world of no sacrifices, no discrimination, no hatred…

"Lloyd, hey, wait u—_OOF_!" Colette's distant cry was abruptly cut off by a yip of surprise, and he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the girl unceremoniously trip over her own shoes, windmill frantically, and collapse on her rear.

"… _That's the fifth time today_," he mumbled half-heartedly to himself, striding back to where his lagging companion had fallen, and offered her a hand. "Are you sure you don't want to wait back at the Inn, Colette? I doubt this will take very long—"

"O-oh, no, no!" But she cut him off, hasty to get back on her feet and (attemptively) brush off the street grime from her clothing. "I'm fine! Sorry! Just a little stain or two, that's all..."

The holy white fabric seemed impossible to keep clean in a place like this; scanning over her (hopelessly buried) figure, a part of him wondered why she _still _insisted on the color. It felt… like misplaced symbolism, and he didn't like it.

"All right, then," Lloyd conceded with a sigh, turning to start off in the direction he'd previously abandoned once more. "Keep a lookout for the sign I told you about. I think it should be around somewhere along this street."

She nodded swiftly, smiling and determined as always. "Roger!"

They continued down the shabbily paved street and, sure enough, managed to locate their target with practiced efficiency. It was well disguised, Lloyd noted; anyone who didn't know better would just label the place as just another struggling hole-in-the-wall, probably inhabited by a squatter peddling useless trinkets. The building's sandy exterior was cracked, flaking like dry skin in a desert and riddled with holes. Only a feint sparkle of scarlet jingling under the door handle betrayed its true motives.

"Hopefully this'll be quick," he mumbled, glancing back to Colette as she caught up (lagging was a talent she excelled at). "Ready?"

"Ready!" she chirped. They exchanged a brief nod, and Lloyd made a beeline for the door.

"Thirty-thousand."

"W-WHAT?!"

"_Thirty-thousand, and not a cent less._"

"…But last week it was only--"

"Yeah, well this isn't last week, so take it or leave it. Merchandise is getting harder to—"

The conversation abruptly ceased at the sound of bells, and both men jerked their attentions toward the suddenly-open doorway. Sharp mid-day sun poured in from behind the pair who stood in it.

"... You need something, _boy?_" the more authoritative man (who could only be assumed as the operation's frontrunner) snarled defensively. Lloyd, unfazed, merely smirked and—

"We're looking for exspheres!" Colette blurted cheerfully, "so—u-um, do you know where we could find some?"

… and slapped his palm against his forehead. Hard.

"_Colette_…"

Immediate pandemonium broke out among the culprits.

"SHIT, IT'S _THEM!_"

"THIS IS A GOD DAMN RAID ISN'T IT?!"

"SHUT UP AND RUN—"

It was only when Lloyd drew his blades and pointed them against the foreman's throat that the chaos died down, eclipsed by an eerie (and undoubtedly awkward) still.

"… You're trafficking black market exspheres." It wasn't a question, but a deadpan statement of truth. The man at his blade point nodded frantically, fish-eyed and making a noise that sounded as though he'd choked on his own throat. "We're shutting you down. Do you understand?"

Again, a frantic nod.

"… Good. Now hurry up and bring them out here." For emphasis, he tilted his blade just slightly, making certain his 'victim' saw the glint of its polished razor-edge. "_All_ of them. And be quick about it; I'm not feeling patient today."

…

"A-About before—"

"Colette, it's—"

"I ruined everything with my big mouth and—"

"Really, that's en—"

"I'm so sorry, Lloyd! I didn't mean to—"

"_I said that's_ _ENOUGH_!" Their silverware clattered sharply as his hand hit the table, and neither spoke for what felt like a long time. Colette's mouth opened briefly, then closed, vaguely resembling a fish out of water as she tried and failed to respond. For a moment Lloyd was tempted to do the same, but hastily coughed into his hand and stared off toward the windows instead. Never mind that the glass was too dusty to see through.

"I mean… there's nothing to apologize for," he muttered as levelly as he could, pretending that his previous outburst had never happened. "You did your best. We got what we came for, and that's all that matters, right?"

"R-Right…"

He knew that she was smiling, even without looking at her, just like he knew that she was forcing it for his sake alone. Again there was silence, and then…

"Hey, um… Lloyd?..."

"Yeah?"

"Have you been feeling okay?"

"Huh?" In an instant the dusty glass had been forgotten. Lloyd was staring right at her now, face a mix of bleak surprise and confusion. "What do you mean?"

'W-Well, I…" She was fumbling with her words (and a soup spoon on the table): both sure signs of unnerving. The smile she'd forced before had dissolved completely. "I mean, you just seem a little… different, lately."

"… Really." The word was surprisingly unlike a question. His only saving grace was the girl's failure to notice this.

"Well, you've been sort of quiet and…"

"And?"

"A-And—"Cold. Distant. Bitter._ Withdrawn. _There were so many words Colette wanted to say, desperately, yet all of them were held back: contained behind tight-pressed lips and swallowed back into her oddly-dry throat. "And… sad," she finished bleakly, then hesitated, adding on. "You know, if you ever need someone to talk to… I'm here, Lloyd. You don't have to be alone. Please, never forget that."

There was silence again for what seemed like a short eternity, but then he suddenly rose from his seat, brushed off his shirt (of what, she couldn't gather) and smiled. Relief flooded into her the moment he first spoke.

"… Thanks, Colette. Anyway, I'm gonna go ahead and get rid of those exspheres properly now, so… I'll meet you back at the Inn in a little while, alright?"

"Alright!" she chirped, waving him off as he headed for the door, carrying their bag of recent 'spoils' (which the merchants had so kindly packaged for them) casually over one shoulder, "um… have fun! A-and remember not to forget!"

"… Gotcha."

She only caught a glimpse of his back before the door swung open and slammed shut, stirring a thin miasma of dust down from the glass windowpanes.

"Quite the friend you got there, hun'." The sudden rasp of the waitress startled Colette back to reality, nearly jumping out of her seat as the older woman appeared from out of nowhere (or at least the back of the kitchen) with a pad in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "Sorry for the wait there; we had a little problem with the coffee maker out back—ol' thing kept makin' the pots too bitter."

"O-Oh no, it's no problem at all!" the latter squeaked, flapping a hand dismissively. "… I'll have an omelet, please."

"And t'drink?"

"Mmm, tea, please…"

"Fair warning on that though; we're fresh 'outta sugar. That artificial sweetener's all we got left 'til tomorrow."

"That's alright."

"Okay then. I'll get that order out as quick as I can, hun'. You just sit tight."

Colette sat tight. She sat there patiently with her fingers woven in her lap, humming an innocent song until the promise of food was fulfilled. She still maintained the tune as she ate, if only in her head, and finished the last scraps from her plate just as the first hints of pre-sunset redness stained a darkening overhead sky. Despite a noticeable chill in the air, she smiled as she walked through the streets.

"I'm back!" she chirped, knocking at the door of the room they had called home for the past two nights. "You should have stayed a little longer, Lloyd; they have really delicious o—"

The door creaked open.

Colette's voice died suddenly in her throat.

… And the world came to a grinding halt.

"_L-Lloyd?..."_


	3. It's The Fear

Yet A(nother) A/N: So here we are: Chapter 3 (well, 2 officially) at last! Academia has gotten me jumping through hoops left and right, but I still managed to find time for the fandom. Again, I'd like to thank each and every wonderful person who's left a review; they're so encouraging, and to repeat offenders, Rowena and Rydia, that kudos goes double for you. I write out of personal love for the genre, but knowing it's appreciated just puts the icing on the cake.

Anywho_… LOOK, FINALLY, A PLOT!_ … that is, if you squint hard and tilt your head just right. Either way, I had a lot of fun with this chapter (despite the inevitable late-night errors, which will be corrected), so, without further ado… onwards and upwards!

…

… Blood. There was blood _everywhere_.

It was strewn in all directions: a grotesque pattern of splotches and spatters and drags all neatly arranged _just so _like the step-by-step of an awful homicide. Mottled foot tracks, set and studded deeply in the earth, accented the scene like rubies on a necklace string—and through the haze of tears, of fog, of so many wild emotions reeling just beyond the tips of outstretched fingers, he could swear that those ruby pocks were _shining._

It took every ounce of self-restraint within Lloyd not to groan at the recollection, settling instead for a quick massage at his pulsing temples. A thick and strangely inexplicable headache was still pounding fiercely behind them, but seconds were precious, and slipping away quickly. He had no time for pointless things now.

Destroying the exsphere payload had been routine enough. There were twelve in all; he made sure to count (and then recount) on more than one occasion, and it had taken exactly twelve swings of his blade to dispatch them. Only the first strike was difficult, really. Once he convinced himself that they were just rocks— pure, simple and soulless— the rest had came with detached ease.

Only when he stopped to think did it feel like murder… so he didn't.

The fragments had all but dissolved into the wind, and those too large to drift away were buried with mechanical efficiency beyond the city walls. From there he returned to the inner limits, stopping just briefly to purchase replacements on the path toward 'home'. The sky had only started to blush red when he arrived, passing through the Inn and making a sharp beeline for their—no, for _his_ room. Colette, after all, had yet to return.

… All for the better, he figured. Her presence would only make him hesitate.

He made sure that the door was firmly closed and immediately set to work, unhitching and discarding his suspenders on the floor. His sheaths were next to go—this time hung with a bit more care over the corner bed railing— with boots following in quick succession. Unthreading the white scarf from the collar, fussing against a stuck trouser-button and meticulously detaching every stud along the seams of the over-shirt…

He felt uncomfortably vulnerable then and hastened, tugging and buttoning the new attire until it was all settled properly into place. This particular Inn was relatively small (so far as the countless Inns of Meltokio went, at least), but there were still a few choice luxuries scattered throughout the room— like the polished mirror on the far wall, for example, which he promptly used to inspect himself.

It was surprise how unlike himself he looked, staring off at the reflecting pool for a solid minute before it registered that _yes_, this stranger was Lloyd Irving… somehow.

He seemed taller than he remembered being, and less heroic. Perhaps it was the fact that he had chosen such plain clothing to wear; a collared shirt of purplish- gray and barely-darker trousers were hardly impressive in themselves, let alone compared to the discards on the floor.

Rather than replace his swords at either hip, he decided to fashion a quick cross-strap from his old belts and carry them at his back instead. The boots were pulled on next, worn _beneath_ his pants this time, and lastly…

"…'_Might as well,"_ he mumbled to no one in particular, cinching the clasp and tucking it under his collar. Finished at last, he turned towards the window, staring off glazedly into the red-gold sky…

_Click. Click. Trip squeak giggle. _

The sound of approaching footsteps: footsteps that belonged to none other than Colette Brunel, the ever cheerful, ever clumsy, ever naïve Chosen girl.

"I'm back!" Her voice carried through the door like a song. "You should have stayed a little longer, Lloyd; they have really delicious o—"

… But then it creaked open, and the song silenced.

"_L-Lloyd?..."_

The room was empty and pristine, but with a difference. A familiar looking set of clothes were laying on the bed, neatly folded and stacked in a way that seemed completely unlike usual. It was boggling for a moment… but then she spotted the open window, and knew.

Her eyes glazed over in disbelief, and for a time she stood just stood there in the doorway, perfectly, unbudgingly still. It was as if her brain refused to compute the information. What was he?… WHY was he?...

It just… didn't make any sense…

"You…" she mumbled bleakly. "You really… weren't listening to me at all, were you?..."

…

"… Rain."

"Hmm?"

"I think it's going to rain soon.," Genis observed. "The air pressure feels different than before."

"Really now?" answered (the plainly distracted) Raine Sage, her elegant nose barely a hair's width from the ruin walls— inevitably studying some insignificant detail or another in the ruin wall, just as she had been for the past six hours. "Well, I'm certain this won't take much longer—"

… _So she said three hours ago, _the latter sibling thought with a grimace, but wisely bit his tongue. The last thing Genis needed now was a pounding headache, courtesy of her fist, to make the experience even _less _pleasant.

Then again, he figured, things could have been worse. Sans an occasional squeal of _Marvelous! _or _Fascinating! _in the backdrop (which he was more than used to), the caverns of Asgard were pleasantly quiet, and sitting near the tunnel's mouth gave him _just _enough light to read under comfortably. _Theories of Juxtaposition in Elemental Mana _was the current book of choice: an ancient looking thing covered in yellow age-stains, with a spine threatening to break whenever he turned the page. The smell of musty library was pleasant to him, like the bouquet of a fine wine.

"… What's so special about that picture you've been staring at, huh?" he asked, trying his best to sound interested in… whatever she'd been gawking at.

"Oh, I'm so glad you asked!" Suddenly seeing the gleam in her eye, however, he wasn't _glad_ at all. "The treatment of material is absolutely exquisite, but the subject matter is…"

"… Is what?" The hanging question threw Genis off guard for a moment. Raine didn't _ever_ leave hanging questions.

"Well, come here and see."

Hesitantly dog-earing his book (the page would probably fall out later for that), he wandered over to where she had camped herself, peered over her shoulder at the so-called exquisite thing… and just stared, at a loss.

"… Stick figures and a big circle," he said flatly. "Looks like something Lloyd drew in art cla—" **CRACK!** "_OW_!"

"These are ancient cave paintings!" Raine reprimanded as she retracted her hand, only to point a warning finger at him. "The technical skill isn't what's important! Do you realize the significance of these images? This could be an enormous breakthrough in scientific and e—"

Another **CRACK **disrupted the conversation that moment, but far deeper and more resonant this time. Both of the Sage siblings recognized it immediately as thunder, and the smaller one sighed.

"I_ told_ you it was gonna rain," he mumbled (and earned himself another whack on the head). "And besides, it's getting dark out. We should head back for the night…"

"Oh, come now, I'm certain this won't take much longer—"

"Yeah, just like you said hours ago!" By the time he realized he'd snapped, it was too late. Genis let out a yip and clutched his head. He was finally at his wits' end. "Fine! I'll walk back by myself! Don't blame _me_ if you get there and dinner's cold!"

"_Genis!_"

... In retrospect it had been a stupid idea to let such childish impulses get the better of him, really. None the less, off he went with a huff and a pout, feeling thoroughly annoyed (among other things) by his sister's ways. Was it really _so_ hard to just stop and call it quits for the night? She'd been obsessing over those stupid pictures since they arrived in the city_ days_ ago!

With his precious book tucked safely under arm and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he made his way through the grass and cobble streets. The city had long since fallen into a sleepy sort of lull—just as it always did when the sky grew dark. A funny glow, not quite red but unlike true violet, stained the edges of the oncoming storm clouds. Somewhere in the distance, lightning flashed threateningly.

"… Maybe I was too hard on her," he found himself mumbling to nobody in particular, just speaking thoughts out loud. "I… I mean, it's been a while since we've seen any ruins and—"

Wait a minute, what was he _saying?! Him, _being too hard on her? She was the one who had hit_ him_ for acting responsibly! It was that stupid mania corrupting her judgment again!

"Just stop talking to yourself," he grumbled in frustration. "You're acting like a kid again…"

Around another corner, and down another street. With every step the world seemed to grow a little darker. Feeling the pick of a cold wind rushing past his cheek (the inevitable precursor to bad weather), Genis picked up the pace. If luck was on his side, he'd be able to beat the rain and—

_Snap. _

He froze suddenly, feeling a strange, incomprehensible _something_ shoot up his spine. He could've sworn hearing a twig breaking under metal, but…

No, that wouldn't do at all. Childish fears were for children and he was _not_ a child of any kind. Still… it couldn't hurt to be speed up a little—

_Snap Crunch. _

There it was again; his imagination was playing tricks on him. Just a little further and he would make it—

The pale half-elf wasn't aware that he had gasped, swearing to every spirit and goddess he knew of that _something_ unusually dark had just flashed across his periphery vision… only to feel himself collide with a very real mass that enveloped him before he could even think to scream. A terrible knife-pointed pain exploded on the side of his head, and the world slipped away, like rainwater through his lifeless fingers.

…

"Well then, I'm off," Raine remarked to the empty air—or perhaps it was a farewell meant for her precious new ruins. The incessant thunder had (finally) convinced her to retire for the evening. Leaving her staff at the inn had been a wise choice; with both arms free, she could easily manage carting her entire stack of research in one trip! Oh, what a marvelous evening indeed!

Still, there was one nagging twinge of guilt she couldn't shake. It had been haunting her since Genis stormed off, only managing to stew and amplify in the seclusion of the caverns.

"Maybe… I was a little too hard on him," she found herself mumbling, and frowned inwardly. The rain was starting to come down now and her pace quickened accordingly; it would be a tragedy to lose her precious notes because of some silly weather spell.

And then, all of sudden, those precious notes ceased to matter, splashing to the ground in a puddle beside the remains of one sickeningly familiar age-stained book.

Raine Sage was a woman notorious for her maturity and control. She had never panicked in times of disaster before, just as she had never once screamed. It was simply something she didn't do, had never done, and never planned on doing. It was a pointless waste of energy with no possible benefit, she told herself, only serving to show weakness at unnecessary moments.

… And yet, staring at his frail little body, so still and cold and stiff as it lay face-down in a slowly-spreading pool of red water, Raine Sage began to think that maybe, just maybe, screaming wasn't so pointless after all.


End file.
